London, We Have A Rockstar
by Marianna Giniagio
Summary: Jude's life has not turned out the way she thought it would. The life of a rockstar is great in theory, but what does it really entail? And who will be the one to save her from herself? I do not own Instant Star.
1. Chapter 1

Jude lay on her couch. Or, at least, she thought this was her couch. Come to think of it, when was the last time she was home? '_Oh, great,_' she thought, '_Hung over, again._' She looked up. How had she gotten back home?

"Jude, good, you're up." She looked up to see her manager walking toward her. How did he get a key? "Now, listen, I know when you first came, I said you needed to liven up your image a bit, but I think you've taken it a bit too far."

"Why are you here, Henry?" Henry Short, the most annoying man on earth. Or, that's what everyone called him when he wasn't around. He had no sympathy for anyone, except himself.

"I've come to inform you that you were seen streaking drunkenly around Piccadilly Circus last night. God only knows what you're in for, now." But, he might as well have kept this information to himself, as Jude had already fallen back asleep.

When Jude woke up three hours later, she found that Henry had left the front door of her apartment wide open, and paparazzi cameras were flashing all around her. "Jude, could you give us a reason why you were streaking last night?" one of the cameramen asked her.

"Question for you, does anyone ever plan these things?" she snapped at him, annoyed at his stupidity in asking such a question. "I'm calling security!" How did they get past security in the first place? She picked up the phone and began dialing the number. The answering machine on the other end picked up.

"Security Department. We're sorry, today is Sunday, so we are not available. Please call back during the week," it recited.

Jude groaned loudly to herself. Why did they get days off? Why? She did the only thing she could think of to do — push them out herself. "Okay, come on, everyone out!" This did nothing. "I mean it, move!" Again, nothing. "I called the police!" She was bluffing, but it worked. They all began scrambling out of her apartment and onto the streets. She sighed. When would her life ever be normal?

She went to the kitchen and pulled down a bottle of aspirin. This had become her main source of comfort, since she moved to London three months ago. She had no long-term friends, but anybody who wanted to hang around her could. She was out at clubs every single night and doing anything that was offered. Everybody she knew hated her here. So she found the only way to get away from it all; drugs, alcohol, and whatever happened afterthat; she could never remember. She had forgotten what it felt like to be completely sober, to be loved by the people around you, to express anything through music. She no longer wrote her own songs and her voice was now synthesized during the production of her songs. As far as she was concerned, her music was no longer her music. She was no longer a person, but the shell of what used to be.

(A/N:) I'm not sure if I should continue with this or not. And trust me, it's not all as depressing as this was (at least for me). Please let me know. What I'm writing is a stretch and a risk for me, but I think it'll really broaden my abilities as a writer.


	2. Chapter 2

Tommy sat in the chair of his newly equipped recording studio, his best friend Kwest beside him. He marveled at the shiny new microphones and the glistening of the soundboard. Sometimes people made fun of him because of his "fetish," as they called it, for mixing equipment, but this was his life. He had a right to be proud. He looked away from the soundboard, to see Kwest spinning around in his chair like a little kid. He would have laughed, had it not been for the wince that came to his face, every time Kwest's leg nearly kicked the you-know-what out of the soundboard. His worry finally got the best of him. "Uh, Kwest?" His friend kept going full force.

"Yeah?" He questioned, absentmindedly.

Tommy winced again, "Would you stop? That's driving me mad!" Kwest dragged his foot along the floor, slowing himself to a stop.

"What? The chair? 'Cause I don't think this thing's going anywhere. It's sturdy as anything!" He kicked it across the room to make his point. Unfortunately, his point also brought a shelf of CDs tumbling to the floor.

"What the hell, man!" Tommy screamed at the top of his lungs. His day had gone from great to needing an ibuprofen in less than five minutes. Kwest just looked shell-shocked.

"Okay, what? Is it just that time of the month?" he asked, "'Cause honestly, I have enough of Sadie's mood swings, I don't need you going feminine on me, too."

Tommy just went over to the leather couch and buried his head in one of the pillows. "Honestly, I think I'm just stressed. With Maliyah's new album coming out, I've been forced to listen to sugary pop music for the last couple weeks, nonstop." His friend just looked at him. "Did you know that Darius is actually making me listen to her previous album in my car? Everywhere I go. _With the top down_." At this last condition, Kwest couldn't help but burst out laughing. Darius had always been all for promotion, in any form; But to make Little Tommy Q. drive around listening to songs titled, "Make Me Your Sugar Princess," "My Fluffy Pink Lovemobile," and "Spin my Cotton Candy," just seems cruel.

Tommy looked beyond peeved that his friend was getting so much pleasure out of this. He glanced toward the wall, ignoring his friend lying prostrate on the floor, doubled over in laughter. The clock read 7:30 PM. There was nothing to do, but he could think of even fewer things to do alone, so he decided to stay. "Hey, Kwest?"

Kwest looked up at Tommy through teary eyes, a goofy grin still plastered on his face. "Yeah, dude?" he asked.

"Wanna go to that new club down the street?" He inquired of his friend, who he knew all too well. He would say yes.

Kwest jumped right up and said, "Sure, I'll just let Sadie know and we can go."

When they drove up to the club, it was already packed, which was surprising, since it was so early. They pulled up to the valet and Tommy handed the guy his keys, as they walked inside. The lights from the club were unseen from the outside, because of the tint on the doors, but inside, they were blinding. As they walked up to the bar, Tommy looked around. There was definitely something happening here tonight worth seeing. The bartender, who looked to be in her early 20s, came up to them as they settled down at the bar. "Hi, what can I get for you two, tonight?"

Tommy smiled at the girl, who blushed, and smoothly replied, "Anything you want, baby." The girl made a disgusted sound and walked away.

Kwest told him in a disgruntled tone, "Dude, those cheesy lines aren't going to get you anywhere." He paused for a moment. "And from the pissed off look on her face, I doubt we're getting any drinks tonight."

"Then what's the point in being here? Let's just go." Tommy said, and then proceeded to pick his jacket up from the back of the chair.

"Yeah, fine. I think Sadie was a little annoyed I was going out tonight, anyway."

As the two men turned to walk out, they heard a commotion coming from one of the private rooms. It seemed like a storm was running through it. What seemed like hundreds of reporters swamped the outside of the tiny room. Tommy walked up to one of them and asked, "What's going on in there?"

The reporter looked annoyed that Tommy was keeping him from getting his story. "Some rock star in there, or something. They're not telling us anything about it; something about taking them out of England as a sort of rehab."

Turning away from the man, Tommy felt as confused as ever. He had worked with many an artist in his career, but only one had moved to England. Unfortunately for him, she was the one about whom he cared the most. "Hey, Kwest, why don't you take my car back to G-Major to get yours? I think I'm going to stay for a while longer."

Kwest had not heard the conversation with the reporter, "Okay, man. But how will you get back to G-Major?"

"I think I'll walk. I have some things to think about."

Tommy went around to the backstage of the club, where the performers of the night prepared to take the stage. He flashed his ID at the guard standing there, and because of his ex-boybander status, he let him through the dark curtain. If he thought it was crazy outside that private room, it was nothing compared to the pandemonium erupting here.

"Sir!" He heard someone call out from a distance. "Sir, excuse me!" The bodyguard-like man ran up to Tommy. He was taken aback. Why would he want to talk to him? It seemed like everyone had enough to worry with back here, whatever that may have been.

"Yes?" He half asked and half greeted.

The man talked in a rushed voice, "Look, it's a good thing you're here. You've worked with our artist before, yes? Good, now we need you to try and help her calm down. I must warn you, she's perpetually on drugs and also drunk right now, so you might have to be patient. A mean drunk, too, if I do say so myself." His quick British accent left Tommy still processing what he had said, when they got to the entrance to the private room. The blinding flashes from the main part of the club got even brighter because of the glare of the glass, he found. When he got inside, the large man escorted him to the side of a young woman, with a mop of blonde hair, crying into her hands. He reached out to take her hand, but she slapped it away, before looking up. Her eyes immediately turned sympathetic and filled with wonder. "Tommy?" she recognized him with a weak voice.

He was shocked beyond words. How could his angel, his shining star, his _girl _end up like this? Sitting slumped against a wall, high and drunk, how could this happen to her? He closed his eyes and hoped that maybe, when he opened them, this would all go away. But in reality, he knew it wouldn't. He would have to deal with this. He would finally have to face the girl who broke his heart, who looked, herself, so broken right now. He took her hand, and murmured quietly to her, his eyes still closed, "Jude."


End file.
